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avifaunaa · 9 days ago

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how the world spins without you [ n.r. ]

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys just a quick note. I go a bit into Natasha's entrance into the U.S. and exit from the Red Room in a sort of big chunk of this. It involves Clint being there as her buddy and as someone who helps her get used to her new life. If you're just here for smut I apologize greatly. I do get to it but I wanted to have Nat be a large focus in this fic! That said -- I hope you enjoy it otherwise. This is an AU where Thanos simply doesn’t live after infinity war. They get to him in time.

Masterlist

PART TWO

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha was adept at many things: assassination, spying, avenging — they made for a great resume. What she wasn’t quite so adept at was understanding you when she returns from her exile and found you at her beloved table.

Content Warnings: Discussions of culture shock and Natasha's integration into the States, SLOW BURN TO GET TO THE SMUT, Mild-to-moderate angst, SO SOFT, hints that R's parents are absent / neglectful at best, Yelena and Kate being immediate gremlins upon introduction

Word Count: ~7.9k

Men and Minors DNI

Natasha Romanoff did not indulge in many things for herself.

Growing up, it was because she was never offered such things. Enjoying 'the small things in life' was simply not an option in the Red Room and Dreykov was particular about ensuring what his girls consumed. Even the smallest comforts could lead to the idea of freedom.

One of the first things Natasha did when she walked away -- after signing an agreement with the United States government, with S.H.I.E.L.D., -- was get coffee. With Clint.

"You ever had coffee? You've had to have coffee," the Hawkeye said as though it were obvious. They had just been transferred back to the U.S. after a successful escape from Budapest. Growing close in tight quarters had meant learning a little about one another between them listening and watching the people go about their lives.

And between the games of hang-man and tic-tac-toe. Another introduction from Clint, seeming flabbergasted that he had to explain the concept of both games to Natasha who, despite her brief stay in America as a child, simply did not know either game.

She learned quickly and had eventually started to defeat him.

"Once," Natasha replied shortly following behind the bruised and filthy man into the bustling New York shop. "For a mission. To blend in."

Clint did not ask her to elaborate, but he clapped his hands together loud enough to garner some curious looks towards the two [ who already stood out like bleeding, infected thumbs needing to be amputated ].

"Wonderful," he chortled, eyes focusing on the chalk-board menus hanging above the barista bar. Fake vines wrapped invitingly around the signs and little drawings decorated the corners.

Natasha did not know -- could not know -- if she hated such a sight of casual happiness when her entire world before today was never allowed this.

"What do I get?" the redhead asked as the line grew closer.

"Whatever you want," he responds as his muscled arm gestured to the various pastry displays and again at the hanging menu board. "Everything here is different. Some things are iced others are hot. Do you want it made like a caffeinated milkshake? Ask for a frappe, I guess."

"Why so many options?" Natasha questioned next, frowning and feeling slightly overwhelmed.

She would never admit that even her fine training and brutal grooming couldn't have prevented some of this culture shock. The Red Room was able to prevent her from seeking out these luxuries in the name of her duties -- they scarcely deigned to say what luxuries they were.

Natasha felt as though she were face to face with one now. Why so many choices when not one person can try nor like them all? She did not even want to look at the amount of food inside of the displays stacked.

She knew the reality of what happens to the food not finished after a store closes. Thrown out and wasted while others hunger for prices they cannot afford.

"Natasha?" They were at the counter now, where all the thick scents of coffee beans and other smells unfamiliar were at their strongest. "Anything look good?"

Natasha scanned the board for something and to squash that overwhelming lump that threatened to rise from her stomach and into her throat, she just said, "Coffee, black."

Clint groaned from beside her as he pulled out a battered wallet. Natasha watched as he used a credit card to pay and wondered if that would be another luxury given to her.

The Red Room gave them everything they saw as a necessity. Money for missions was sent through a wire transfer to a bank account to withdraw as cash. Mostly to keep their mission as untraceable as possible, but also to control the Widows by only ever giving them enough to get through their assignment.

Running away never worked out for most who tried, anyway.

Clint nudged her a moment later. "C'mon, let's get you sat down okay?"

"Where?"

Clint shrugged more dramatically than needed as he once again used his arms to gesture to the open plan floor where some tables were taken and some sofas around a fire-place hosted people as well. Other tables and some overstuffed leather chairs remained vancant.

"Wherever the heart desires, Nat. No assigned seating required. I'll wait for the order -- why don't you find somewhere for us to sit?"

Natasha wanted to do something other than that. People hardly bothered her in most circumstances -- people had been her job for her entire life. But she was not used to people in a casual context where there was no target to watch out for, no enemies to ensure weren't around with you.

But her feet were moving anyway, avoiding the high traffic tables and definitely shying away from the social circle the fireplace seemed to attract.

She found an empty table near the back close to the hallway leading to the bathrooms where the volume wasn't so thick and where her back could sit comfortably where less amounts of threats were.

She sat awkwardly, arms crossing across the table as she waited. Her eyes floated around the small but busy shop and took in the scene. A mother handing her child a small lidded cup of chocolate milk, a delighted look in the kiddo's eyes, as she adjusted her bag and grabbed her own cup of coffee and started leading the child out the door.

"Clint!" a low-sung voice called out clearly. Clint practically skipped to the counter where two different drinks awaited him as he thanked the barista and turned around on his heel with a swerve.

He spotted Natasha pretty quickly and danced through the crowd -- but he actively involved himself in people instead of avoiding them. He said cheerful "excuse me's!" and a very scolded "pardon" to an elderly couple he nudged the table of as he approached.

"That was a lot of foot work when you could have walked around," the Russian told him when he finally made a safe approach with a smug grin.

"What, and not show off my circus-grade balancing act? I don't think so," he retorted with an even wider grin as he set both drinks down with a flourish.

Natasha bit her tongue when a comment almost forced its' way out. Instead she turned her gaze to the two drinks on the table and read their labels. BLACK read one, the other in a clear tall cup with heavy ice, ICED MOCHA.

Clint pulled his toward him and pulled a straw out of nowhere [ later, Natasha would admit she was still impressed by it for a month until she learned his secret to the trick ] and popped it into the drink's lid.

"I cannot believe," he starts, dropping into the chair across from her and leaning back comfortably, "that I bring you to one of the best coffee shops New York City has to offer and you insult me--"

"It is all the same -- the same intentions, yes?" she asked as she brought the hot drink up to her lips. It was bitter like the one or two other times she'd had coffee but this flavor had a hint of hazelnut. Perhaps a different brand?

"Sure, I mean sort of?" Clint scratched the chin scruff he'd began growing in Budapest. "Some people can't stand the bitterness of normal coffee or don't like it hot. That's why there's so many different ways to get it."

"I don't see the point."

"Would you eat pizza the same way as someone who say . . . likes anchovies?"

Natasha lets herself think on it. The one time she had pizza was when she was with Melina and Alexi as a child. She could still remember how melted the cheese was -- that was the type they got. Cheese. Alexi got some sort of "Americanized Everything" as he called it.

She answered with, "I suppose not. Anchovies are not good."

Clint laughed. "Right. Not everyone wants anchovy on pizza but they still want the pizza. The same goes for coffee. They want the coffee but they may not like how bitter or hot it is. So there's different flavors, different ways to make it. Iced, blended, the works."

"I see," Natasha said as she sipped at her bitter, hot coffee while Clint held his not bitter, hot coffee. "What form did you get?"

"I like mine iced with extra chocolate syrup," he told her. He eyed her, grinned, then nudged it closer. "Wanna try?"

She blinked at him. "It is your drink, I have my own."

Clint raised a bloodied [ days old and dried ] eyebrow at her. "So? It doesn't mean there's a contract that legally binds you from tasting it. Just try it. If you don't end up liking it, you know to not get it next time."

Natasha regards the drink for a moment as it was offered. She decided that she's already done so many things that she shouldn't otherwise be doing -- she was no longer working with Dreykov. Dreykov was dead and he could not touch her.

She leaned over and took a sip. It was definitely cold and tasted like coffee but had a chocolate taste and was sweeter than anything she's ever tasted.

"Good? Terrible? Wanna pull your tongue out and burn it?" Clint wondered.

Natasha smiled a little at him. "I think I like it very much."

Over the years, Natasha would keep coming back to this coffee shop. She learned its name and kept it safe — especially when the attack of New York occurred.

It had been destroyed when she got to it but she was able to save everyone inside. They rebuilt and continued on as anyone can do when a disaster strikes and shock that aliens exist have made the human brain barely able to cope.

The first time they opened since the attack was when Natasha decided to try something new. She had been able to do many new things: become an Avenger, work somewhat nicely with other people, and above all: save the world with Tony Stark and not kill him in the process.

She’d been greeted reverently by the staff who had starshine in their eyes and gratitude to give.

It was overwhelming. She wanted to run away and never come back again.

She ordered an iced mocha with extra chocolate syrup, instead. To go — because too many people were starting to come in. Regulars of the store that she’d recognized but ones that now knew her too. It was too much to handle at once and she needed her exterior to stay solid.

They threw in a free pastry — she didn’t see what it was but heard the crinkling of the bag sat down by her as she leaned against the counter. She took her coffee and unwanted bread product of unknown origin and left.

She didn’t return for three weeks.

When she did she made Steve come with her. They’d grown close the more the government had implemented the Avengers program after the attack and had suffered Tony in bogus amounts.

[ They grew to love Tony, too, if only because he knew how to handle the public more than even Steve but also because he was able to make them forget ].

Steve was better at this thing — the superhero persona. He took it in stride and spoke warmly with people when approached, offering conversation and knowing how to slip away from it politely and smoothly.

This time while Steve was talking to a young pretty blonde near the entrance, Natasha ordered a macchiato. She got Steve his enormously detailed drink he’d listed off for her before being taken to the side and she threw in a couple of pie slices. Blueberry.

She almost believed she could stay this time. Her table was open and it was still early enough to enjoy the energy before the morning rush took over and invaded their space.

Natasha turned to Steve and said, “Okay, Captain America, your coffee is getting cold. We should sit down and eat our pies before we get called back.”

A perfect exit, a glance of relief from the blonde hero, and they sat down. Nat facing the front again but for entirely different reasons this time.

She picked at her pie slice with a plastic fork while Steve drank his coffee and ate his with just the right amount of speed to not concern other patrons.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he told her, looking around comfortably at the shop. It looked somewhat the same rebuilt — perhaps more updated in terms of structure but otherwise not as new as one could come to think. “This is your hideout?”

Natasha played with a blueberry that fell from the crust. “It was.”

Steve regarded her for a silent minute, then sighed and set down his fork. “You’re not settling well with the attention.”

“I’m doing fine.” She didn’t glance up at him. They were the defacto leaders of their little operation even if Fury believed he was. Besides Clint, it was Steve that Nat was starting to confide in for some things.

For others he seemed to read her like an open fucking book that she had previously managed to keep chained and locked tight.

America was making her soft.

“You’re lying,” he decided after a moment, then took a sip of his coffee and said nothing more.

She waited for him to dig further, but he simply went back to his pie and coffee. She watched him suspiciously. “What — no pep talk about how this is my life now? How I should find a way to live with it so that I can better serve the people?”

Steve tapped his chin. “I’d say you’re living with this life in the best way you can, Nat. I don’t exactly know your entire story but I do know that you worked with people like I did but uh —“ he squinted, “oppositely.”

“You can say I killed people, Steve,” she sighed. Her pie was pushed back, uneaten.

Steve nodded. “Okay. You killed people — maybe they didn’t deserve it but for whatever reason you were sent to do it. You didn’t ask questions but you did as you were told. I was in the army and they essentially ran the same rules but we did it on a greater scale in a massive war instead of in the shadows. Killing was in the job.”

“You became Captain America,” Natasha told him bluntly, curling her lip slightly, “A man that brought great comfort and safety to his country and protected them with the serum they never knew he had running in his veins. But they didn’t have to know — because you did good.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed, looking slightly sadder, “and maybe some of the men I killed could’ve been good. Because I didn’t ask.”

Natasha smiled at him, sadly, “I don’t think so, Steve. They let you play publicly like they let the Red Guardian in Russia play.” She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was never meant to be a hero in anyone’s stories. I was always their nightmare and a blacked out mention on the paperwork and files.”

Steve didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort her. That was okay. Natasha wouldn’t know what to do with comfort or gentleness. She strayed away from it like she strayed away from her mistresses beatings in her ballet lessons.

“In truth,” Natasha says, pulling her coffee closer in hopes it will ground her better than she can ground herself, “I needed you here because maybe I struggle being the part of someone’s story that doesn’t bring endless grief and anger.”

She watched now as the customers began going about their business and pretended that Captain America and the Black Widow were just ordinary people among them.

“Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how to find my place in a world that wasn’t initially meant for me.”

She met you after the long, destructive battle that ended with the death of Thanos — and Vision with him. Wanda had vanished and Natasha knew she’d be called in when they found traces of her.

But for now she was home. The drive from the compound was longer than the walk from the Tower but that’s okay.

“Natasha,” Fiona, the manager, greeted with a small smile and quiet demeanor. “Welcome back. I saw what you did in Wakanda. What you and the Avengers all did.”

Natasha smiles in return, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Ah, news travels fast now. It was a group effort.”

“I’m glad your name got cleared by the Accords. It wasn’t right,” she continued, shaking her head stiffly, “After all you did. You and Captain America. It simply wasn’t right,” she repeated.

“It’s okay,” Natasha told her with a relaxed stance as she put her hands into her jacket pockets. She was somewhat truthful. It was okay — the fight with Thanos had forgiven a lot of things.

The government had turned their head and seemingly forgotten who their named fugitives were. Lost the paperwork and welcomed their beloved heros back as though it never happened.

The other half of Natasha and the others — the halves that had sacrificed a lot of themselves over the years — were still angry and demanding more.

“It’s being taken care of,” the redhead-turning-blonde continued as she graced an easy smile toward Fiona. “I’m just happy to be home. I missed this place.”

“We missed you too! We kept your streak for what you’ve tried and what you haven’t,” the small barista exclaimed, crouching down and digging under some shelves presumably.

She pulled out a white board that was somewhat on the verge of being erased with all the scuffs it had on its writing. But thankfully it was still legible. She was on course for trying the caramel apple mocha next.

She went with that. “Frappe or cappe?”

Natasha thought for a moment. “Let’s do it as a frappe,” she decided, pulling out her wallet and handing over the sleek black credit card labelled with the large STARK INDUSTRIES on top.

Fiona swiped it once before handing it back, “It’ll be out very soon,” she said as she hopped over to the machines to start making her order.

Natasha meandered over to the pickup counter, finding a spot on the corner to lean against and pull out her phone. The chubby, slobbery face of Nathaniel grinning next to Cooper and Lila greeted her when she looked at her Lock Screen.

She had one text from Tony regarding her rooms at the compound needing to be Clint-proofed [ “Why are you trying to keep me out of your life?” Clint bemoaned when he called her from the blocked off vents later that night ].

She sent a quick text, telling Tony to add flamethrowers to the vent walls if needed to keep the Hawkeye from breaking the damn thing.

Tony only sent back a devil emoji followed by three fire emojis.

Natasha snorted and pocketed her phone as Fiona came over capping the top of her drink, extra whipped cream spilling out the top.

“Here you go,” she chirped proudly as she slid over the drink. “I did add a little of the spice that we use for our pumpkin flavored drinks. It’s really good with this one too.”

“I trust your judgement, Fiona,” Natasha said as she took the drink in hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how I like it.”

“Please do! Your reviews keep us busy.”

Natasha turned and tapped the cup with her fingers as she looked for her table. It was busy already this morning but Natasha had quickly learned that blending in could be as easy or as difficult as she made it.

She said hello to some people who greeted her first, and made some small conversations. The regulars knew she liked to keep to herself until she finished her drink, however, and left her alone with just a smile and short greeting.

But she came to a stop shortly.

Someone was at her table, littering the surface with notebooks and a textbook opened that they seemed to be deeply focused on.

Natasha kept walking towards her table cautiously, suddenly greeted with a new challenge in her comfort zone.

Small talk was an effort — but maybe —

You looked up and they struck Natasha like a speeding car with no intentions to stop. They were so brown — your eyes. Rich in the color and fierce in the cold New York sun.

She expected shock when you realized who she was. Some sort of spluttering hello.

But you only looked slightly irked as you pulled out an AirPod she didn’t see you wearing before and said, “Why the hell are you staring at me?”

This was the worst place for you to have chosen to study — especially since you chose to do it during the height of Winter Break.

Kate had insisted on its perfect aura, the warmth it was saturated in. You called her dramatic and she didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night other than to spam emojis at every message you sent her.

Whatever, you thought, as you settled at a table with your newly ordered dark chocolate frappe. It was five in the morning with no sun, few to no people, and sugar and caffeine to keep you going now even if it led to the inevitable crash later.

You got to work with pulling your textbook out and beginning to take extremely detailed notes that you can make even more detailed study cards on at a later date.

It was hours before an intrusion broke you from your study fever. It wasn’t a forceful one, either, but it demanded attention enough that it had you pulling focus after hours of studying with no end in sight.

You pointedly ignored it as best you can, hoping that your music and the lack of eye contact would send a strong and clear message: leave me alone, I don’t wish for human contact.

The message went undelivered as did the feeling of being watched. When you wrote the same bullet point down twice, your eye twitched and you finally gave in.

Removing your AirPod and breaking your peace when the bustle and surroundings of the shop filtered into your space, you stared back with no motivation to hide how irate you were.

The words came out long before your brain could process who, exactly, you were talking to.

“Why the hell are you staring at me?” you hissed out. Your eyes dragged upward just as the sentence fully formed and you suddenly wished you were not so eager.

The Black Widow was staring at you, apparently. Dressed down from battle gear in a pair of jeans and a soft turtleneck, long hair down in waves. But that was the Black Widow without a doubt.

You couldn’t back down now, you’d lose all respect if she had any when approaching you to begin with. No — you held your ground. You had to.

Green eyes, green darker than gardens and well-cared for parks, crossed yours. Surprise lit up within them briefly — but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said perfectly polite, with an apologetic smile forming on her features. “I didn’t even mean to just stare like I did. Sorry.”

Really? You rubbed at your aching temple and glanced down at your phone. 8:45. You hadn’t moved for a good near four hours at the least. Your coffee was only half finished, and your hand writing had grown less organized on the sheets of paper beneath you.

“It’s — it’s fine. I didn’t realize anybody was there. Or what time it was.” You flipped the textbook shut and clenched and unclenched your fingers. “No wonder you were staring. I must have looked like a zombified student.”

A soft laugh rose from the woman across from you, feet crossing as she stuck a hand into her jacket pocket. “Not at all. It actually had nothing to do with you, I must confess.”

You gave her a confused look. “What? Then why all the staring? If anything I should be giving you the wide eyed awestruck look.”

The Black Widow in all her glory and turtleneck sweaters suddenly seemed to grow shy. The smile remained but she tapped her fingers rhythmically against her cup.

“It’s moreso that you’re at the table I usually sit at when I come here,” she confessed quietly, embarrassed at such a small thing to have been caught confused over. “But it’s been a while since I’ve been here so I should’ve expected that the table was likely to be used like I used it.”

You blinked at her confession to you, now more curious and being drawn out of your desire to over-study than ever. “Oh — right you were on the run for a while.”

“Yes,” she confirmed simply, lips thinning into a line as she glanced behind her.

“You can sit here if you want,” you said, breaking the silence and deciding you didn’t want her to have to leave. You moved your stuff. “I’ve been here since five. I mean, if you’re fine waiting while I finish my coffee I can be out of your hair.”

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure.” Natasha pulled out the chair and gave one more long glance toward the shop behind her before sitting down with her back to them and starting to slowly sip her coffee. “May I ask what you’re studying?”

“Oh. Sure. I’m majoring in electrical engineering with a minor in physics,” you said, turning the textbook slightly so she could see the title of it.

“That’s a heavy major,” she mused, but didn’t say it in a way most usually did when you told them. “What made you want to go into that?”

You felt your cheeks turning red at the question — something you normally have no problem answering but now do considering who it is asking. “Well to be honest with you —“

“Honesty is always best,” the older woman agreed in a drawl, amusement glittering across her face.

You puffed, still red, and redder more when Natasha’s amusement seemed to grow upon realizing why without you saying yet, “Okay. I’ve always been sort of interested in engineering. But Stark Industries is literally paving a new path into technology we otherwise wouldn’t break ground on. Imagine what we could do for people in war-torn nations with it? What about turning it to medical use for progress towards incurable diseases? Anything is possible because it hasn’t been done yet. I want to see it, to try it. Like Tony Stark was able to do with that access.”

You were expected to be given a lot of incredulous responses when you told people your ideals for your major. Your expectations were met — but Natasha simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her drink.

“A passion like that could get you anywhere you want,” Natasha told her. “You have dreams that most people give up on. If they have the technology why haven’t they done it?”

A question you loved answering. “Because they don’t have anyone fighting to get it used in those specific areas, to be produced for those situations,” you replied, leaning closer, “Don’t you see? It needs someone or multiple people to see it for what it can do if given the time and the resources.”

Natasha tilted her head curiously, studying you with an unreadable expression, “You think you’re that person? The one who can make the change?”

A flush of defiance coursed through you at the question. “If nobody else will, who better than myself?”

“Where are you going to school?”

“I go to MIT. I’m currently on my winter break.”

“And yet you’re studying like you have a test tomorrow,” Natasha concluded. She glanced from the scurried notes to the textbook and back to you, as if trying to read you out and get your secrets.

“I’m on a scholarship and otherwise wouldn’t be there,” you admitted carefully, chin lifting, “It was a lot of hard work to receive it and losing it isn’t an option.”

Natasha rested a hand on her fist — calloused from whatever dark past and Avengering has rewarded her — and regarded you with a startling feline-like expression.

“Working hard and overworking are different, that will be important to remember. I didn’t know the difference when I was young either.”

“What made you learn?” You ask carefully.

She pursed her lips and stared behind you at the hallway that held no interesting object to look upon. “I did ballet as apart of a program. I found it fun until my instructor made my ankles bleed every single day for every mistake I made each session.”

You swallowed your shock down and fisted your hands together on the table. “She sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Natasha barked out a laugh, the glazed distance disappearing and replaced by a spark as she returned to focus on you instead. A stray lock of hair lowered across her forehead as she relaxed slightly, “She was, I assure you. I did not know the difference between brutality and hardworking traits until I came to the states. Sometimes,” she finished, “I still do not and must be reminded that I am no longer a tool for anyone’s use that I do not myself see purpose in.”

“Wouldn’t you consider the Avengers program being a tool?” You wondered aloud without meaning to.

Her lips twisted, perhaps impressed by your bravery despite the accidental slip. “That is why you must choose carefully what games you want to play and with who. Who to be a tool for and who to destroy.”

“Are you saying I should take more breaks?” You finally ask.

She grins smugly as she removes her chin from her fist and leans back in her chair like a fat cat. “Well done, Malyshka. I like playing with you.”

You pondered her words and sort of wanted to know what got you into this situation where the Black Widow was giving you confusing advice.

Natasha and you were comfortably silent as you two sipped on your coffees together. You think you like whose is without the grandeur that the media tends to flash onto her. She’s thoughtful and quiet — and holy shit you just met and hardly know her.

Natasha suddenly broke your peaceful silence, looking very serious as she says, “I know a guy I can connect you to at Stark Industries when you graduate if you’d like to get your feet off the ground. He’d probably be impressed with you.”

You stared blankly at her, brain shutting down for ten seconds and rebooting in that time.

“What.”

Natasha played with her empty coffee cup, nonchalantly saying, “I know a guy —“

“I heard the first time,” you said, shaking your head a little bit to clear it, “You’re talking about Tony Stark. You — you’re willing to put a word in for me?”

Natasha nodded once with finality. “Yes. You remind me of Tony in ways that are all good — and yet you lack the parts of Tony that make me want to kill him.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . . Like what’s the catch?” You asked, stacking your notebook on top of your textbook and fiddling around to keep from exploding. “Because it’s weird to me that the Black Widow is sitting down across from me and offering me a gigantic opportunity.”

“Once in a life time,” she corrects, “But there isn’t really a catch. Just a request — the offer will still be open and I’ll ensure Tony gets you on his ledger when you graduate and apply.”

“Sure,” you said, pretty much willing to do anything.

“May I have your number?”

It was so clearly an unexpected request and even you could see Natasha's confident request was followed by tinted cheeks and more taps on her empty cup.

You gave Natasha Romanoff your number.

Your first date with Natasha was at the coffee shop — where you met at the table. You spent hours talking like the day before except for this time you got to know each other a bit more on a deeper level.

You learned she adopted a cat straight off the street that wouldn’t leave her alone. A small black creature with wide yellow eyes. The photos she showed you led to you seeing photos of her nieces and nephews through the Clint Barton.

“He’s chubby little dude,” you noted as you scooted your chair closer to her to see the photo better.

“That’s what I said!” she exclaims, beaming at you and nudging your shoulder with hers.

“Just look at him,” you continued, “those cheeks say it all.”

You learned a little about her and she you. You had similar tastes in music and entertainment, but when it came to movies it seemed you were at an impasse.

This became evident when she showed up to your apartment for the second date and flashed two tickets to a new horror as snow fell around you both.

Your head dropped in defeat as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you to her car. “I promise on Tony’s suit that I will protect you from the big bad.” Then she opened the passenger side door for you.

With a heavy sigh and a suffering look sent her way, you plop into her car and wait for her to shut the door.

She was a pretty decent protector at the movies. She armed you with sugary drinks and snacks and lifted the armrest between you two and opened an invitation into her arms at any point when it got scary.

For you it did not take very long at all. You dived into her side and curled so tight when the first brutal murder flashed on the large screen. Natasha was smart, Natasha was clever. She wrapped her arm around you as you buried your face in her neck and grinned as she watched the movie without so much as flinching.

They went to the coffee shop after to get the remaining heebeejeebies out of your system by chasing it down with caffeine. You notice Natasha thinking it over before ordering a plain mocha latte.

“You ordered something different this time?” you asked her after she paid for both your orders like she had at the movies.

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on. For a lot of my life I was devoid of choices. They were made for me. This helps me remember that decisions I make are my own, nobody else’s.”

“One unique coffee at a time,” you murmured as you brought your straw to your lips and felt something flutter in your chest.

“One unique coffee at a time,” she echoed, meeting your gaze as she brought her own drink to her lips.

The third date was the only one left before you would be set to return to MIT. You were firm on making plans for this one and Natasha didn’t argue.

It was planned for after Christmas and New Year’s — somewhere you had to begrudgingly drag Kate over to help you set up.

“A date? Good enough to go here?” she asked as you scrolled the website for the restaurant.

“I really like her,” you say, licking your lips and unsure of what else to tell her in regards to Natasha. “She walked right up to me and . . . I don’t know. She sort of just missile fired into my life.”

Kate snorts, but leans against your pillows and nibbles at her cuticles. “Okay. This is a place I think is good if you really really like her. It’s expensive.”

You checked your bank account earlier. You had enough fun money left to spend on this date. “It’s fine. I can do it.”

Kate tapped a few things into her phone before handing it to you. “Then make the reservation.”

Natasha had to pick you up from your place — considering you didn’t have a car in New York at the moment. She was beautifully dressed in a styled pant-suit with her hair curled into a bun. She had some sort of watch you thought looked familiar but couldn’t remember the brand name of.

You ran your hands down your glittery dress and hoped it would be enough to impress her. She came to greet you, reaching out to take your hands. “You said dress nice and you end up dressing nicer than me,” Natasha comments.

You scoffed, fussing with your bracelet to distract yourself from her unwavering gaze and how it made you blush. “T-thank you. You’re so . . . Yeah.”

“Yeah?” she echos, amusement and glee creeping into her tone as she guides you by the hand to her car.

“Yeah.”

“Glad I got the yeah approval.” She settles you in and punches in the address you give her.

The restaurant is very nice — far nicer than even you usually were able to attend despite your parents’ wealth and reputation in the city. You stayed home from the nicer events often with a nanny.

Dinner was started with a set course of appetizers followed by a few dishes brought for the main course. Dessert was the most popular dish and it brought you and Natasha closer and sitting together instead of facing one another so you could enjoy sharing the food while giggling to yourselves and talking.

An entire bottle of wine had been left in an iced bucket at your table and the both of you indulged in a couple of glasses.

“You hid in a vent for five days?” You squawked at her, failing to hide your laughter behind your hand and thus forced to set down your wine glass.

“It was our only option, to be fair,” the redhead admitted, smirking. “We had the entire city in a state of disarray and we had to find a way to lay low for a bit.”

“I can’t imagine the discomfort between two people up there!”

“It was sort of fun. Clint was the first person who was actually . . .” Natasha pauses as she considers what to say next. “. . . Who actually spoke to me like a human, I suppose. Not a soldier or a robot.”

You frowned, lacing your fingers with hers. “That’s terrible, Nat.”

She tilted her head at you. “No, that’s just what my life was. I didn’t know any better, really. Didn’t see what life could be like if I knew what was out in the world other than cruelty.”

You ran a thumb over her the top of her palm. “I’m glad you got out and that you’re here now.”

“Me too, Malyshka,” she agrees, and meaning it to the depth of her soul, “me too.”

She drove you home and held your hand the entire time. It was hard to let you go even as she got out to walk around the front of her own car and help you out and walk you to the door of your building.

“Well, this is me.” You tried to sound cheerful, but there was a sadness laced in the tone thick enough for Natasha to detect.

“Will you let me drive you to the airport tomorrow?” she murmured, her fingers loosening from yours so her hands can trail up your arms, fingers marking the outline of your neck, and finally cupping your cheeks.

You locked gazes with her and smiled warmly as you leaned in, seeking out her closeness just as she did with you.

Natasha was not an expert with how to handle what you made her feel. It took everything in her training to control herself — so she wouldn’t run from the emotions that pelted her.

It was like having her ribcage peeled open and her heart exposed for you to see. Natasha despised it as much as she adored it — the rush it gave her followed by the nerve-wracking fear.

You had the sole ability to tear her apart because she’s giving you the chance. She was warned at a young age never to give anyone that opportunity lest they get you killed by betrayal or by weakness.

It was a cardinal rule Natasha never broke. Even when she got out she never sought out sex, romance, connection. It had the power to destroy everything she was.

And here she was giving you the paperwork to the instructions.

But you wrapped your hands so incredibly gently around hers as they caressed you, nuzzling into the touch and inhaling in her scent and just . . . Simply being there. Both of you. Together.

“Malyshka?” she murmured, nose nudging yours to grab your attention. “Airport?”

Your eyes flew open, still hazy from the moment that overwhelmed the both of you. You sighed.

“I have to be there by six to catch by flight, Nat,” you finally told her, shaking your head slowly in her hands. “Too early.”

“I’ll be there at four.” Natasha leaned in, beginning to press soft kisses to your cheeks. One on each one. Then your forehead.

You furrowed your brow. “Nat, no. That’s way too early.”

“I’m an Avenger, baby.” Nat only pulled back enough to grin at you with that trademark smile of hers. Smug and knowing like she was.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Four thirty.”

“Okay.” She grinned. “Four.”

Then you leaned up and kissed her first, shaking her confidence and surprising her. One hand dropped from where it held your jaw and fell instead to grasp your hip to steady herself.

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experience since leaving the Red Room. She’d done many things in her newfound freedom — but this . . .

You eventually had to pull back for air and she leaned forward to brush an errant piece of hair back behind your ear. So soft, so gentle.

Your Natasha.

“I’ll see you at four.”

You walked off the stage with a diploma -- a piece of paper telling the world that you were now a credited electrical engineer. Your parents promised to make it and then backed out the day before with apologies and a graduation gift: money. Perhaps in hopes to buy your forgiveness.

Kate flew down though and she hugged you so tight when you walked out into the crowd of thousands as the stadium emptied after the ceremony. You were hot under the robes and you wanted to go change but Kate wanted to embrace you in a death grip first.

"So fucking proud, duuuude," she said, shaking you before releasing you with a beam. "Look at you! My baby girl, all grown up."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, mom. You're not embarrassing me at all."

"I should hope not! It would be really awkward since I plan on dragging you to every single bar we can manage until we wake up somewhere the next morning," she said with the Kate-stamped seriousness.

You winced. "Kate, I'm not sure --"

She twitched, then grinned. "I'm joking. Your shit's already packed at your dorm and ready to be flown home. Plan tonight is something entirely low-key."

"First of all." You held up a finger. "How and why did you pack up my stuff already? I had the week to get my dorm cleared. I was going to drive it down with a rental and have Natasha help me move it into storage."

"Oh," Kate clapped her hands, "that reminds me--"

"Hi, Malyshka." That voice you'd been in love with since at least March, when she stayed up late with you while you tried not to break down during sessions of studies.

Natasha, who made the distance work by using her superhero mojo to fly down in her own jet to see you for a day and just hang out when she knew you needed it.

Natasha who was beautiful and followed by a younger, curious blonde with braids as she came up to you. She held an expression of pride as she took you in and --

You burst into tears when you saw her, "Nat?"

The blonde looked perplexed and leaned back a bit, expressing loudly in a thick accent, "Does your face always make her cry. Sistra?"

Sistra. Sister. Natasha had told you about her sister Yelena who she'd reunited with while she was on the run. Who helped her take down the Red Room and Dreykov for real this time. It was a story that Nat had told her on one of her visits to you and as she was opening up more. She told you that Yelena was her entire world before and that night expressed that now you were too.

"Yelena," you spluttered, gesturing to the wary ex-assassin in an attempt to hug her.

"Hello," she greeted awkwardly, tapping your arm with a heavy hand. "I see you know who I am. Natasha." She side-eyed her sister accusingly, but Nat ignored her in favor of embracing you.

"You looked so gorgeous up there. I was very proud watching you walk that stage and keeping your chin up." She kissed the top of your head and held you close as you finally were able to hug your partner again for the first time in months.

Kate and Yelena stood off to the side awkwardly next to one another. "I did not invite you," Kate mentioned, squinting at Yelena.

Yelena sniffed. "Natasha goes, I go. Simple. What are you? Kate?"

"Kate," the brunette confirmed, "Bishop."

"Kate Bishop," Yelena repeated, letting the words flow off her tongue smoothly. A mischievous glint lost on you and Natasha but not on Kate started to glow in her eye. "Do you like mac'n'cheese?"

The look Kate gave her would've had you on the floor in tears if you weren't already in tears in Natasha's arms.

"Let's get you to a hotel, yeah?" Natasha murmured soothingly. She kisses your head again. "You can get to know Yelena if you'd like. We can all watch a movie together."

Nothing sounded better.

I will not be discussing how much fucking trouble this gave me. just take it and pls enjoy it.

PART TWO

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #femslash #clint barton #yelena belova #kate bishop #natasha romanoff x reader

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jscrawls · 19 days ago

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Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a twist, reader doesn't know the bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Pt 2: Same day different mess

🔹🔹🔹

This isn't right, you're not right, you squeeze the mirror in your palms with shaking hands as you study yourself, you feel like you're staring at the face of an uncanny version of you, like someone who drew you from memory rather than your actual face. The basics are right, your eye shape, nose, curve of your jaw, but The details are all messed up. The scar curling down your temple is gone, the mark of too many split lips is gone, the mark on the side of your nose from too many surgeries gone, holes where piercings sat are different, too many grabbable ones decorate your face, the only thing that looks the exact same is the color of your eyes, this isn't your face.

And the body isn't any better, too thin, brittle feeling, where are your muscles? Your battle scars? The widows tattoo you wore proudly? This feels like something out of a dream where nothing's quite right and you can't escape some invisible monster, you're the invisible monster. This body isn't yours. You're not you.

You allow yourself one single moment to panic, the mask slips and you drop the mirror and shakily grab the hospital bed’s sides, your limbs trembling slightly at the effort it takes to pull yourself to sit up, the heart monitor beeps wildly beside you.

🔹🔹🔹

Amnesia—they're calling it post-traumatic amnesia. Apparently, you suffered an attack and they put you in a medical coma for an extended period. The mask is back on as you endure the doctors' examinations, the desire to ask about Natalia and Barton nearly Burns, lingering on the back of your tongue. Instead, you let them examine you and ask their endless questions, trying to gauge the extent of your memory loss. A nurse preps a dose of thiamine on the other side of the room while the doctor tests your motor skills. It annoys you that they won't give you straight answers when you do question them.

Your questions about the avengers were met with confusion, denying they even know what you're talking about, annoying. Whatever this is frustrates you. They started to baby talk you again so you eventually dropped the topic, rolling your eyes as they immediately wrote notes.

You don't do well with a lack of information and the thought of something being kept from you prickles your skin and drives you up the wall, still you put on a calm and dazed demeanor as you're poked and prodded and questioned like a toddler learning their alphabet, biting your tongue on your questions until one of them, an aging man tells you your husband has been informed you're awake, you pause and stare at them, was this a joke? another brainwash situation? We're you married off by hydra without your knowing? You shove the thoughts down and ask who your husband is, Once again they just look at you sadly.

“…Wayne? I'm a (lastname)” on a mission you wouldn't compromise yourself, but you need to know what the hell's going on. Maybe you were checked in under a false name? Given a false backstory? Why would Barton or Nat do that when you have on call doctors at the different bases? You don't remember a Wayne in any of your research, never an agreed upon alias.

Eventually one nurse hesitantly tells you his name, pulls her phone out and taps on it for a moment and then shows you a picture, you don't know the man she shows you, you study him for a moment, taking in the stupid smile and too open body language, the suit is tailored and that's clearly expensive shoes and a ring so probably has a bit of money, you assume he's some kind of public person if she could just Google him, that doesn't bode well in your mind. You can't see yourself ever getting attached to someone that plasters themselves all over the public eye to be studied and scrutinized, that doesn't mix well with a spy and assassin. What happened to you after the fall? What happened on that mission?

🔹🔹🔹

The doctor is still talking, you realize. you'd zoned out slightly after he started explaining how post traumatic amnesia works and what you could expect, in your defense you already know everything he's saying so…. Your thoughts drift off again. No one's talked about the dusting, did the team get all the stones? Did they do anything with said stones? It's a little strange to think you'd offered your life up for a rock. Oh right, the doctor. He's trying to get your attention, his eyes peering down at you in concern.

“Wayne? Hello?….Charlotte please note brain fog on their chart.”

He grumbles quietly to the nurse beside him, the white lights of the hospital reflecting off his bald head, the nurse nods and quickly does as told.

"I... apologize... I hadn't meant to be rude, I just can't..." you mumble, feigning meekness as you drop your eyes, tightening your lips to appear embarrassed. Being weak, shaky, and lacking muscles and coordination is bad enough, so you cling to your other defense—subtle manipulation.

“Oh, no, no, no! This is quite normal miss! You've been in a medical coma for over a month now it's natural your body and brain are trying to catch up, so to speak. You've nothing to worry about mx Wayne.” The assurances come too quickly, almost suspiciously so.

The name "Wayne" nearly makes your eye twitch as thoughts of your supposed "husband" surface again. You wonder if they'd know if your "husband" was a plant, or if they're all in on it. The thought makes your fingers twitch with the desire to defend yourself, but you keep your expression carefully blank and vulnerable. These people clearly expect you to be someone else entirely, and for now, playing along might be your best chance at gathering intel.

“Oh…I suppose that's a comfort, will my…husband, be informed on my treatment plans?”

The doctor nods, a hint of relief crossing his features at your apparent acceptance of the situation.

"Yes, of course. Mr. Wayne has been quite involved in your care. He'll be briefed on everything."

You notice how the doctor's posture relaxes slightly, clearly pleased with your questions. He'd worried your amnesia symptoms would lead to an outburst, you've been rather back and forth after all.

You nod your head like you're accepting the answer, your mind spinning with the thought that some mystery man was involved with your comatose care. You have no idea who “Wayne” is or what he does, your work spying on the elite has left a bad taste in your mouth so you have low expectations and your guard up.

🔹🔹🔹

He stares over the ledge cautiously, watching the group loitering down below inconspicuously, they think they're subtle as they eye up anyone walking by. Three of them and they're clearly new at this, nervous jitters and everything, he wonders if they'd even act tonight if a police car rolled by.

“Nightwing.” his ear piece crackles to life, he taps the com twice to signal he heard.

“Oracle, what can I do for you?” He never pulls his eyes away from the group, he's ready to act as soon as they do.

“it's about operater, they're awake.” He tenses when he hears that, no wonder his phone was constantly vibrating earlier…

He leaps off the ledge, intending to just startle the group so he can get on his way, maybe he'll scare em straight.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: bruce and reader will have their meeting soon I promise 🙏 I think they just need to have their "WTF" Moments first 🥲

Taglist: @cxcilla

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #batman fanfiction #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #black widow reader

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blindtaleteller · 2 years ago

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All of that but again; @worstloki is also REALLY summarizing there, as to his contact with the stones especially in the MCU: big time. Before I get started though, I need to put in the disclaimer first. No offense meant, just tired of cleaning out my ask box of questions that.. people should but don't always know or understand when reading these.

Get a drink, use the bathroom; and prepare to hold my earrings/beer: cause..

Here we go again..!

Note (and again before someone else sends me another ask not understanding this): this is not meta I'm talking.. these are canon facts of the universe put on screen and said outright in that on-screen dialogue I'm putting down here. If you're coming across this and confused by that: meta is fan theory around and usually based on, confirmed canon information.. I say usually; because some metas do not pay attention even to what their theorists are pretending to be fans of.

If there's meta, I'll identify it in the same sentence, or at the start of a meta section. Otherwise? These are direct references to events and dialogue in the MCU films: facts and history in their universe and story as presented in those films. Not, meta/theory about that story.

That said, crappy writing, directing and more post-TDW makes some of that canon utter and really murky shit (or a shit-show .. Gagnarok and what followed including the Loki series in particular lol) but yeah. Not theory.. they literally show and tell us this stuff on screen over the course of five to six years of films.

Anyway. By the time Infinity War rolls around finally in 2018; Loki had been king of Asgard for another five years since Darkalfheim's attack back in 2013.

If you're questioning that time frame:

Remember, the events of the end of Gagnarok were back to back with the start of IW: the Statesman is found by Thanos in the end credits scene and the battle of the Statesman is just finishing in the opening scene of IW.

The entirety of Gagnarok happened over the course of one or two weeks regular time. (Regular time is wording used, because Sakaar; on which they spent most of it, is stated outright as running differently time-wise very early in by the Grandmaster: part of why they excuse Loki arriving 2 weeks earlier in their time, after being shunted out of the Bifrost seconds prior to Thor in regular time)

Loki gained the throne at the end of Thor: the Dark World which is chronologically placed at the time of it's release, like the majority of MCU films including Infinity War: placing him on the throne prior to GotG in 2014, during Age of Ultron 2015, during CA:Civil War 2016, and during Dr. Strange 2016-2017: etc, etc.

(side notes on that last point:

Confirmed Canon: Dr. Strange is one of the few in that era that have a much wonkier time allotment, as to when it happens and how much time passes in the film. According to the director and other BTS official quotes, DS1 takes place starting in fall of 2016 and ending after his initial training in MOTMA [Masters of the Mystic Arts] in the following fall of 2017. Meaning that as Ragnarok was slated in time later in that same fall of 2017..

Sort-of, Meta?: ...Strange was met by them at the start of Gagnrok roughly a month [or less than that] after the Ancient One's death and Dormammu's defeat. At this point, Stephen had less than two years of training/learning, even with using Astral projection very night to do so. Which IS important, when you take how mundane/human magic in particular works in the MCU, versus the very different way it has worked in the comics.)

(the above is an older pic and manip from 2016; just after DS1 had released. It displays the Stones' film appearances, then current containment, and wherabouts as of 2016 when the fith of six had finally appeared on film. Space is mislabeled in the last tier, in part likel because Gagnarok hadn't been out yet to remind people the King had a vault.)

Moving on though?

Loki at that point in Infinity War had come into personal direct contact (this wording and difference is important) with not one or two: but three Infinity Stones out of the six:

Mind Stone (contained in the Chitauri Scepter) Loki held and personally wielded throughout the first Avengers films. This was lent to him by Thanos to retrieve the one Infinity Stone he was already most familiar with; listed as number two: BUT. This is not the only interaction he has or intends with it throughout the MCU. Because remember, again: he was the King of Asgard in 2015 during and after Age of Ulron, too. The King of Asgard who sent Thor, who states outright early in the film before Tony really messes with it; that this Stone is intended to go back to Asgard for safe keeping: an idea that is swiftly left behind and never mentioned ever again after Vision's creation: rather than insisting all the more after it's previous intelligence gave extra reason to do so when he dropped an entire city on the planet with the intention of killing Earth's entire population. Mmhm; Loki was that King.

2. Space Stone (contained in the Tesseract) also used by Loki in the 2012 invasion, and several humans [some maybe indirectly] including Eric Selvig and Clint Barton. However! There are two films prior to Avengers 2012 that not only set up the Tesseract's presence and connection to Asgard --whom at those times referenced and direct: Loki is a prince of-- well and prior: enough that, that connection and Loki's already existing knowledge of the Tesseract/Space Stone and it's container is stated outright in A1's first scene through the Other's opening dialogue with it on screen. Literally, they say this and say this is why he was sought out to head the invasion; before any character is shown on screen, and they cut to the Dark Energy facility for scene one in New Mexico with Fury etc. Going back to CAtFA 2011, and Thor 2011 we don't have to guess, we know that knowledge comes from his 1000+ year prince OF Asgard status: which did not end until almost a century after Schmidt, in 2011; and whose visits in the centuries well before Red Skull/Schmidt took it from it's human guardians in the beginning of CAtFA released July of that same year. The Space Stone, and Tesseract which is basically just it's jewelry box/container: remain in Asgard's vault throug the entirety of Loki's 5 year reign, and in his possession after Ragnarok until 2018 when the Statesman is attacked. Loki keeps the Tesseract's presence secret and hidden until Thor's life is seriously threatened with the Power Stone itself.

3. Reality Stone (adapted by Darkalfhiem, into a differing form called 'the Aether':) During Thor: the Dark World, this one was the main plot point of TDW. Later stolen and hidden in the depths of an unknown planet within the nine realms by Bor [Odin's Father,] during the previous Convergence around 3013 BC, the former rock turned energy/liquid/gas ..stuff? (lol seriously, it takes several forms in the film including briefly returning to a solid state near the end: and even briefly shows signs of lower intelligence at the start of the film when it decides to immediately attach itself to Jane without any provocation other than her just.. being there.) While Loki has very little interaction through the start of the film: after Thor goes treason happy again, for better reasons this time.. Loki is literally in it's presence (because it's INSIDE Jane Foster who he's literally been broken out of jail to take to another planet sans Bifrost:) he has not only plenty of contact.. he is one of the last people in contact with it having taken Odin's face and place on the throne. After the Dark Elves are defeated: Loki is of course at that point also the king who sends Sif and the Yes-Men Three, to give the Reality Stone/Aether to Tanaleer Tivan aka The Collector in mid credit scenes, rather than keep it.

Oh, but that isn't all of them. Yet...

Now, that in mind.. and I've discussed this in discord a bit but; timelines and mention of them, and especially understanding the content of the films between TDW and Gagnarok are stupid important here where the Infinity Stones and Loki in particular are concerned, and why I mention them by name and sequence of appearance early in the post.

Because guess what? Three are confirmed direct contact: but over the course of 2012 to 2017? Loki with Odin's face since 2013, came canonically into indirect and knowledgeable contact with at least four of the six, as early as 2014 (GotG): a year after he took said throne. Well.. maybe more than that, but that is technically assumed meta and not technically confirmed: even if canon history in their universe literally makes it NOT being a thing a thousand to one chance...

Meta notes: Maybe and very much more likely; five of the six Infinity Stones; not four: and here's why.

If you consider the Time Stone's presence on Earth for 4k+ years in the hands of MOTMA.. whose entire purpose is stated outright in Doctor Strange as policing if not ending other-worldly threats hailing from (among other places) differing parts of the multiverse (including Dormammu's universe featured in DS1 as the ultimate antagonist above Kaecilius), both potential and blatant?

And, that the Ancient One (TAO) in particular is very likely at least as old as Loki, who along with Thor has been established as visiting the planet well and often enough during her lifetime (see the entire premise of Asgard as a advanced alien society in the MCU rather than actual gods who did that, to be mentioned and featured in Thor 2011 in books [props created and displayed], and Thor's & Darcy's explanation of that; plus the mentions by the Yes-Men Three of visitation doing exactly that, the fact that yes she existed and was in power prior to the 2012 invasion and more) and her tenure as head of MOTMA and keeper/head protector of the Time Stone in particular?

Mordo's reference to her origins and specifically the length of her immortal life during Strange's training among other things puts a pretty interesting spin on the canon for Loki especially and the Stones (and in meta: raises questions as to why she really did not take part in actively repelling the invasion too with her ability to look into the multiple timelines ahead all the way to her 2017 death, including those where the probability did not win in 2012 was also available to her viewing:) Mordo referring to her as a Celt so old and secretive that her age is indeterminate in modern times, tells us this much alone. Add in the fact of how long the time stone has been in their care since at least Agamotto, and been handed down through unknown numbers of generations of human sorcerers since and during both her and Loki's lifetimes: but of course not excluding one of the few who wrote the freaking ancient book Strange picks up to fool with the Time Stone that first run, either..

And well; I mean... lets go through this scenario as it's presented by that canon: Head/gifted sorceress lives multiple centuries during which this other extremely gifted immortal-ish otherworldly sorcerer and his lightning throwing himbo of a foster brother is visiting.. and they never meet? With the stated job premise: and thunder-bro tossing house-burners around ancient civilizations .. MOTMA never approach the alien sorcerer-prince or the likewise alien himbo prince while tossing lightning to stir shit up during the eras when the Inquistions were just starting into if not already IN full, horrifying swing? If only, to ask them to cut it the frick out?

Uh.. hm.

Likelihood of that not happening even once, over the course of one thousand to one thousand five hundred years; especially pre-T1 with Thor's arrogance/self importance and racism mirroring Odin's and amplified to boot, is zero to nil with existing canon, lets be honest.

Still, that bit is solidly unconfirmed in the films and untouched by their creators too.. so that one while very much beyond probable: is sadly very much meta until they do so.

Which I for one am not counting on happening, or being handled well at all if they do, given the current dumb in the studios; and the writers and BTS crews they've been picking to ignore all that literal history and placement in the universe they claim to be creating for: as well as and the stuff below after this foundation was set for them by the creators and writers prior whom: they constantly spit on now, with every 'new' iteration.

But yeah.. next up. Remember how I said that bit about direct contact was an important term?

4. Power Stone (raw, contained within a restriction orb; and further contained behind energy fields, in the tomb temple of Morag: and later in the Nova Vaults) Did you notice, that Xandar is part of the nine realms? As in, the nine realms Asgard watches over/protects/has treaties varying from very tense 'I would rather kill you' peace, to downright alliance or protectorate status? Again, for the dozenth time in this post.. in 2014 when Xandar --as a part of those nine realms-- was attacked by Ronin with the Power Stone? Loki was still king of Asgard; their ally at the least, and protector at most. He was still king, of Asgard; afterwards, too: for another four years.

This happened very loudly in the Galaxy of over 100,000,000,000 stars! Not planets like Xandar ro Earth or Asgard: stars they orbit.

The monstrously huge Kree empire was involved.

All of Xandar, the Nova Corps at war with that monstrous empire who called Xandar their main home capital planet; was involved.

The Collector and his entire Celestial mining station and museum: was involved.

It was so loudly done, and crossed so many systems from Morag, to Xandar, to their interstellar prison Kyln, to Knowhere and the Collector (who Loki had already given the Reality Stone a year prior,) back to Xandar again, being chased by a galactically renowned rogue general who decided to work for a Universally renowned genocidal eco-terrorist and maniac.. whose likewise infamous 'daughters' were also in the mix, on both sides of the fight?

That by if not well before the events of GotG2 in early 2017, everyone knew exactly who the Guardians were and what they had done on Xandar. To the point they were making a living off that reputation; and said reputation and experiences with the Power Stone: is exactly how Ego knows to look for Peter Quill at all, and eventually finds them as the main antagonist of that film.

Yeah, so.. as king of an interstellar alliance and protectorate keeper, which included Xandar: even if we're being dumb and saying he didn't know prior to that? Loki along with every other advanced civilization in their universe; definitely knew the rock was there afterwards, or at least to look for it there first.

And he did not collect it; to put in the King's vault he was king of along with Asgard's armies; for those next four years, either.

So..yeah. It isn't just his ability being cut down, and down, and down some more; as more hacks like Waldron (who wrote the series including that ignorant proof of his unprofessional and frankly insulting lack of knowledge of the series title and title character in that entire episode 1 'life viewing scene' just as example one through twenty of why that show is a dumpster fire.

It's the entire history of the infinity stones and every film they were in from Captain America July 2011 all the way through to Avengers Endgame in 2019.

His character is most affected and spat on along with it; likely because Loki as a character in the MCU has the most interaction and association with the Stones, period and long before Infinity War's film started rolling in theaters anywhere.

That doesn't mean it's acceptable, that doesn't excuse it in any way shape or form: but it's pretty common dumb in the MCU too in the same breath.. the series and it's writers simply crank that up another few notches.. crappy and insulting to us the audience as that is, to do in his own series.

Just sayin': current creators outside of those who took part in and spent their time to create those foundations prior to Taika's crap hiring kicking it off? Haven't given a shit about the MCU project as a whole, or the parts in they have been hired to do in building the next piece on top of, that foundation.

And Micheal Waldron, his buddy hire for S2 writer Eric Martin, director Kate Herron and her buddy hire for the scary manly sue amalgamation they made of the Sylvie Lushton character, Sophia Di Martino; have been and still are very loud about openly stating as much in Taika's same disrespectful and dismissive flavor; in official interviews, on the bird app, on their instas, and more.

Most of these fools still have their jobs, while at it. Waldron is not just still writing for Disney and the MCU; they gave him the Doctor Strange sequel that failed to BE a sequel to the 2017 title.

And studios have since announced to our dismay --to most actual fans, not mcu-disney/feige religious zealots mind you-- that he's being given the next Avengers film as a reward instead of being fined and fired for not doing the job, and NOT keeping them out of the range of class action lawsuits for falsely advertising what the series was at Cons and more for the two years prior to it's airing. 👍

Post-insanity Edit: .........I'm putting in pretty reference pictures amongst my canon research and meta rambling; because this got long AF, and I do like my gifs etc to break that crud up. lmao.. sorry.. ish? 🤣 💚

also..

In comics Loki is immune to Wanda's magic. Thats how powerful he is.

In MCU Val knocks him off with 1 hit.

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